


never smile at a crocodile

by lovepeaceohana



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Disney, F/M, Guro, Kink Meme, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovepeaceohana/pseuds/lovepeaceohana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNING: CONTAINS VORE AND, MORE GENERALLY SPEAKING, THE EROTICISM OF BEING EATEN ALIVE/SWALLOWED WHOLE.</p>
<p>The Crocodile really enjoys the way Captain Hook ... tastes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never smile at a crocodile

In the moment before she stretches wide her lips and swallows his cock, she thinks of the fairies.

Such stupid flighty creatures, so easily caught. The Crocodile could not remember how many she had eaten in these many long years. She remembers her first: the blue glow of her magic underwater as the fairy tucked the oysters into their beds; the faint, fluttering beat of wings against her tongue; the warmth and the tingle, a _knowing_ , as she swallowed. She had still been but a dumb creature then, prone to snapping up whatever floated her way – including that infernal clock! – but that spark stayed with her, and she remembered and sought it ever after.

Ten fairies, a hundred fairies, it wasn’t as though the world were wanting for them, as humans in the Everland bred and birthed new babes whose first laugh spawned a hundred million cheeky, chattering morsels in Neverland. She ate and she ate, and their magic became part of her, so much so that when she first tasted a man’s flesh she knew, immediately, that she would not, could not settle for another prey. The mermaids were too fast and fishy, and the natives with their war drums stayed high away on their mountain, and she knew without reason that she could not touch the boy who flew – and he kept his friends well away from the places she lurked. So she stalked, and she listened to the world around her, the gossipy tiki trees and the singing falls, and she learned.

She sees the man, eventually, whose hand she first had bitten. He wears a hook on it now, and races away, gibbering with fear, at the mere sound of the tick-tock of her belly, his chubby meal of a first mate never far behind. That one had the gall to scold her for frightening the man, her captain, and so she often lurked beneath their ship, pondering whom she would eat first, and whether she might get indigestion from vengeance-gulping.

She consults with the useless starfish and the wise octopus – and then eats them – and learns enough to find her next steps. When next she sets foot on land, the scales have fallen from her hide and she goes on two legs, like men. It is strange and exhilarating, all this soft bronze skin exposed to the warm, fragrant air. She stops just at the edge of the tree line, gaze falling upon the sparkling blue of the Pirates’ Cove and the magnificent masts of the Jolly Roger.

The Crocodile snorts as the lone pirate on watch abruptly notices her and falls from sight; she supposes all males are alike after all, no matter the species, and she can feel the pheromones rising off her in waves of shameless hunger. Before long there is a band of them craning long necks and lifting false eye patches to get a glimpse of her, and she takes an unrepentant step forward into the full sunlight, naked as the day she hatched. They hoot and holler and wave their caps at her, and she grins, cataloguing the ones who look tastiest – these she will save for later. Now, though, there is only one that she wants.

She takes three more steps, and then three more, until her toes are washed by the gentle salt waves of the cove. There is a small delegation rowing toward her now, and yes, there he is, her captain at the bow, the chubby bearded one at his side and a handful of others to row. His hook gleams bright silver in the Neverland sunlight and she finds it beautiful, as profound a marking as she might have managed had she bitten snaggletoothed scars into the flesh of his arm.

“James,” she says, in the human tradition. It is the most she plans to make of it.

His eyebrow lifts in surprise, but his eyes do not leave hers, as though it would be ungentlemanly to notice or remark upon her nudity. He steps from his boat and into the waves, and in that in-between place where the sand is washed by the rising tide he takes her hand and presses his lips to the knuckles.

She has him in his cabin, naked and pale and panting, not ten minutes later. Gentleman or not, she finds her captain deliciously starved for female affection, and it is easy, so easy, to lay him down and ply her mouth across his skin, inhaling his scent and laving her tongue across his heated flesh. She kisses him with an open mouth, stroking her tongue across his, devouring the moans and whimpers she can feel trembling in his throat. She takes her teeth lightly to the rough stubble of his jaw, the throb of his pulse in his neck, and thinks wicked thoughts about how he would feel, if she could transform herself into so large a being as to have him whole in her mouth, body splayed across her tongue so that she could taste him everywhere at once. Like the fairies, she thinks, and shudders at the memory intertwined with James’ mouth on her breast.

“I could eat you up,” she growls, and rides his thigh roughly as she bites down, just a bit, not even hard enough to mark much less rip through skin and tendon, on the muscle between his neck and shoulder.

He pauses a moment, and she freezes, but his eyes are crossed with imagined pleasures, and he makes a pointed gesture to his erection, hot and hard against his belly. “That’ll make a mouthful, I’d wager,” he says.

She grins, and if there is something feral in it he does not see, does not _know_ , the human distinction between hunger and desire nearly as frail as their skin. And so she moves down his body, raking tiny pink stripes down his chest and belly with her puny human claws. He spreads his legs for her, offering himself, and she bends down and swallows him, his flesh hot and throbbing in her mouth, the taste of him flooding her senses, and it is all she can do not to bite and tear and rend, to take every little piece of him into herself until his shape is imprinted on the inside of her skin. How well she can imagine he would fit within her!

Though she does like the idea of more encounters like this, more sultry evenings and sunny afternoons spent curled around this man, tasting him at her leisure, always flirting with the idea of finally consuming him entirely. She shivers, anticipating the moment she can reveal herself, her true self, the way his eyes might widen with fear and the way he’ll struggle in her jaws before she tips him into her throat and he slides straight into her belly.

For now, she wraps her mouth and tongue around him and imagines, and he smiles down at her and fists his hand into her mane. More the fool he, she thinks, to be the man who would smile at a crocodile.


End file.
